Columbia, bow thy head, spare not of tears,
Nor call of duty nor the trump of fame
Nor wail of sorrow nor the charge of blame
Can now avail, the chief no longer hears,
Thy son, twice honored of a nation’s peers,
Lies cold and silent; softly breathe his name,
While on thy visage rests a cloud of shame,
One so should pass whom history’s page endears.

Mourn, fair Columbia, since there is cause
For all the depth and passion of thy grief;
Toll, toll the
bells, while in the sacred glow
Of choir and chancel distant kindreds pause
And join thy departed chief,
In sympathy
of peoples with thy woe.